Thank you again for reading everyone! I hope you like this new one!
*-* Erik & Christine XI - Song of Grief
She initiated the kiss. And how pleasant it was. His hesitation was endearing, and frustrating at the same time. Here was a grown man, so unloved and so fearful of any human contact, he was shying away from the barest touch!
That kiss was the sweetest she'd ever given or been given in her life. Not that she had that much experience, of course, but she'd done a fair amount of smooching, and this… This was different. It meant a lot more, too. For both of them, but for him, mostly.
With every hesitation, though, he captured her heart a little more. She wanted to show him everything love had to give. Was it love, or just an infatuation? She couldn't know yet for sure, but she was attracted, and he was as well, and why wouldn't they go and try to see what could happen?
She'd caressed his cheek, and all along he looked like he couldn't believe her. Like she was some kind of angelic being, breathing life into him. She'd hugged him, something so simple, so basic, and yet it felt like she'd given him the moon, the sky and all the stars in the galaxy.
More so, perhaps.
His light perfume had been haunting her head, too. Something barely there, as if she'd dreamt it, but the flavor… She couldn't have imagined it. Both sweet and masculine, inviting, arousing, even. She could become drunk on that perfume alone, if he let her.
And when finally he hugged her back, she let out the sigh she'd been holding, waiting for him to show her he wasn't just a recipient of her attention, but was willing to embrace her too. It mattered a lot to her, that balance. She'd been burnt before, too. Giving too much, and expecting nothing in return was fine, as a theory. But in reality, giving and giving left you empty in the end.
Perhaps, in time, he would be more comfortable showing her what he truly felt.
She would hold on to that hope.
She stepped back, a bit reluctantly, her heart still missing a beat when his unmasked face appeared again, but she remained as she was. She would learn to love that face.
He deserved that.
Lost in all of these events, she'd lost track of time, what they were doing, and how they'd ended up entwined. What had brought them here, like this? She couldn't remember.
Ah, yes. She'd been tired, on the sofa. She had gotten up, to go and approach him, after she'd sung. He'd said she was wonderful.
And then? He'd revealed a bit more of himself. But she wouldn't dare ask for more information today, if he wasn't willing to share it. He had taken a big step, and it was enough for her. She wasn't in a hurry. She would wait.
"Would you sing with me?"
"Just one song. You need your rest. Then, I shall sing for you, if you want. Or play for you."
"Deal."
Her smile was intoxicating. Brighter than the sun, and almost as painful, for his fangs were aching to drive themselves in her lovely, delicate neck.
He stood, legs still a bit shaking, and she followed him to the piano. It really was the best way to sing together.
It was just a simple duet, a short but happy one. "Brindisi", from La Traviata. Not the hardest she'd done, but it suited them, and their current mood. To drink, and to love. Celebrating what would perhaps not be a single event, a relationship that would hopefully not be as short lived as the lovers' affair in the opera.
His Italian was wonderful, of course, his voice rich and powerful and so agile, she almost lost herself and her cue to start. Thankfully, she thought with just a little bit of shame, it would never happen to her on stage, for nobody could so easily capture her heart and distract her than he could with his voice.
Her own Italian was good, of course, having studied it for many years while in the conservatoire to prepare her future career. And as a French girl, it came to her more easily than German, for instance. The Queen of the Night's aria would one day be tackled, but for now, she concentrated on roles who better fitted her youthful appearance. She had plenty of time to prepare the greatest coloratura roles.
And it was delightful, to see him watching her, with just a hint of pride in his eyes. And of course, not hindered by the mask, it was lovely to see how much expression he'd hidden before, how expressive his face truly was. She could read him so easily. The joy, the amusement he felt with her delivery of each line, when she spoke of love's short bliss, it burnt her heart.
His smile, most of all, was radiating in his eyes, in a way that stole her breath. It appeased his broken features, made them almost irrelevant in how bright he became.
Such hope, as well.
He really came across as a hopeless romantic, didn't he?
The flowers in the room, his endearing nicknames, the way he was so easily charming and careful with her needs.
In another world, he would have been adored by the entire world. They would have thrown themselves at his feet for a chance to be looked upon with that smile, and the light in his golden eyes.
And yet, it was she, who alone would have that privilege, if things progressed where she wanted them to.
Thrilled, at the end of their duet, she kissed him again.
And this time, he didn't need an invitation to put his arms around her and pull her against him.
Of course, she should have guessed he was a fast learner, as with everything else.
Afterwards, he played something lighter, on the violin. Something sweet that broke her heart, tugged at the back of her conscious mind.
Her father's instrument.
She thought she could bear it, but the way he played, she couldn't help but be reminded of how beautiful her father had looked, eyes closed as he lovingly drew his bow on the strings. Gone was the happiness of before, melancholy filling her heart once more.
Tears down her cheeks, barely holding back her sob.
He stopped.
"What…"
"Please don't stop. Just go on."
He said nothing, and went on. It wasn't as virtuoso as the symphony of yesterday, on the contrary, the simplicity of the arrangement and the songs made it even more achingly beautiful. And so she let her tears fall, feeling as though her father was there again, playing for her.
One last time.
Losing her mind, it felt as though she could hear two violins, responding to each other.
Impossible, of course. Just a trick of her depressed mind.
But still, the sound accompanied her, as she cried some more, wiping her tears on the handkerchief she'd taken back in her bathroom. Deep down, she'd known she would need it again.
He had watched her breaking down when he'd started playing, and after the shock, he'd gone on. And her reaction reminded him of the last time he'd seen someone cry while he played.
His old Christine had loved her father's violin. Was it possible that this was the same for the lovely one sitting in his sofa right now?
He went on, forgetting he had the mask off, just watching her, as he went over the most lovely works of his repertoire. Simple pieces, designed to show interpretation over true skill and agility. The heart of the piece mattered more than the player's talent.
Long ago, his Christine had loved hearing him play. It was as bittersweet now, as it had been then.
Cursed instrument, that one, and yet, one he loved so much.
Perhaps he should have stuck to the harp?
But no. Soon serenity appeared on her face. Her sobs were slowing, her lips not trembling anymore.
She was soothed by the slow caressing of the strings, letting the melody reach her heart and calm her sorrow.
Her breathing had slowed, her scent changed again. He could read her scent as easily as when he followed a human's blood. It was pure instinct.
Useful talent.
The sea after the storm, that's what she smelled like. The air fresh and salty, cold but calm. Finally calm and at peace.
The dark clouds leaving, no electricity left in the air. Just the hint of the sun, behind the clouds.
He stopped. She still cradled the handkerchief he'd given her that first night and put back into her room against her mouth.
Past and present colliding, with her presence, and every detail of her. So similar at times, and yet so different. The duet had been wonderful. She'd been so free, so carefree, so loving and a perfect fit for Violetta.
Indulging in life's many pleasures, no guilt, no remorse. Enjoying life without questions or fears.
He wanted her to achieve that state of mind, that inner peace and freedom.
And it would start by letting go of her grief.
"Would you like to talk about your father?"
She shook her head.
"No."
He nodded, understanding.
"I mean. It's not that I don't want you to know, but… It is… Still too painful."
He felt like a hypocrite, saying those words out loud, but he had to. She needed it.
"It might be easier if you sang about it. If you don't want to tell me, I understand. But you should try."
She knew he was right. He'd opened up to her so much, in the short time she'd known him. And yet, she had barely told him anything from her life.
"I don't have your gift with composing. I can't write my own songs."
"Try. There are no judges, here. Only me, and you."
The gentleness of his voice, the caress it always brought down her neck gave her the courage to start singing.
Slowly, carefully pronouncing each word, she began telling him of her father's life. How her mother had died of cancer a few months after she'd been born, and her father never fully recovered. How they'd both lived in Paris, living on music, and songs, how her father's violin had been her first accompanist. She'd studied at the conservatoire, and for a time, life was wonderful. She had music, great friends, a boyfriend, and her father.
And then all went wrong.
Her boyfriend got a wonderful opportunity to sail the seas, as he'd always dreamt of. They'd promised to stay in touch, but… There was not much internet on the high seas. After a time, and several unanswered messages, she'd given up. College had begun, a harder time for them all. Her friends had gone to different places, and time had been in short supply, as she threw herself in her work. She just didn't see them so much anymore.
She would always remember, the most dreaded call.
He had not even waited for her to come home. He had cancer too. And six months to live.
She'd spent most of her year caring for him, days on end at the hospital. Her studies hadn't forgiven her for it.
She'd barely managed to finish her year. She didn't bother enrolling for the next one, knowing how useless it would have been.
On one cold, harsh December morning, the sky white and the light blinding, he'd left her. She'd been there, holding his hand. A small consolation to know he hadn't been alone.
Her father had been much loved by their music community, but in the end, she was still alone in their apartment.
She'd tried to enroll the following year, but her nightmares still woke her up at night. And her professors tried to tell her in not so subtle ways she wasn't ready to go on and become a professional opera singer.
She would show too much, or not enough. She could be sad, or feel nothing at all. Two years, she'd tried and tried and tried, to let go, to move on, but… She'd worn these invisible shackles around her neck for so long, she didn't know how to get them off of her.
And that was the sad truth, until now.
She hadn't noticed, how her tears had come back, how her eyes were red and her lips trembling, as she finished her song.
He had barely been able to stand there, listening, for every tear tore at his heart, every hiccup in her voice a blow to his stomach. How much she'd suffered, already, for such a young woman, undeserving of so much loss.
"Would you hold me?" she asked, barely audible, even with his vampire ears.
Taken aback by her words, he didn't move at first. But when he saw her closing her eyes again, about to inhale another sharp breath, he flew to her side and carefully held her close to him.
"You are alright, now. You are strong. It will pass."
How stupid these words were, but he had nothing more to offer her. Just the steadiness of his arms around her, how she held him so tightly against her as if trying to disappear inside of him and never let go, never leave.
He sang a gentle tune, to comfort her, trying to lull her heart to slow and her tears to dry.
Strangely enough, his thirst had gone away completely. Music and his care for her had made that ache secondary. More than that, almost irrelevant to his current occupation.
She needed him, past his teaching on music. He could be her anchor, the very same way he'd hoped for his old Christine to be his gateway into a new world. It was a startling realisation, but one he would try his best to be worthy of.
"Thank you," she said when she broke free of his embrace. "I will feel better now."
What now, her heart and mind fervently wondered.
It was still early, and after what they'd endured today, she didn't want to leave.
"Would you like me to read for you?"
What a strange request. But while unexpected, it wasn't unwelcome.
"Did you have a book in mind?"
He stood and approached his bookshelves. Poetry or a novel? She liked both, he knew that. Poems might not be the best remedy to her sorrow. A story, though, could ease her mind. Show her something else.
And he knew just the story for that.